Perfect
by Spanish Sunrise
Summary: Kim's sister is the suburb's freak, an outcasted loner. When Edward is brought down by Peg to live with them, he falls in love with Kim, unknown that he has won the heart of her sister. He is perfect and she will fight for him even when she can't win.
1. My Mom Was Always Bringing Home Visitors

My mother was too nice for her own good.

My father was clueless.

My little brother was a douche.

My older sister was a super model.

I was imprudent. He was perfect.

He had showed up at our house in late November, brought by my mother from the supposedly haunted mansion literally up the road, and he had stayed with us for exactly one month. I was a junior in high school back then, stupid and naïve, hidden in my sister Kim's shadow. Completely invisible, being the middle child, bowing to my siblings.

I grew tired of it. But _he_ saw me, even when nobody else did. He had never really talked much, but he had said more with his actions and his silence then most people say in an entire speech. He made me feel like I was there, like I was more than just an accident that people only thought of when they needed someone to do their laundry.

It sounds ridiculous to even say this, because he hardly ever spent time with me. I knew he was in love with Kim, I did, I knew it, but I still could not let that go. Kim got everything. When would it be _my_ turn? _I_ wanted Edward, _she_ had Jim, but Edward didn't want _me_. That's what happens when your sister looks like Winona Ryder, _you_ disappear, _you_ don't matter, and all the boys only see _her_.

I sat at my writing desk, glaring at the ugly yellow wallpaper that my mother had chosen for my room in attempt to make it more…how did she say it?...'_cheerful_.' My head hurt from cracking Trigonometry equations, finally admitting that I wasn't born to become a world-renowned mathematician like John Nash. I snapped my pencil between my teeth, throwing it at the wall in aggravation.

I sat back in my cheap plastic swivel chair and sighed loudly, rubbing my sore eyes with my fingertips. I was already developing a migraine, and it was barely three o'clock. My eyes continued to burn as I continued to ignore my homework. I wish I had as many friends as Kim did to go out with on the weekends. She knew the 'better half' of the entire Suburbia High School; I hung out with maybe one or two.

Kim had left camping to the mountains, and was supposed to come back Sunday night, right in time for school on Monday. My brother Kevin was spending the weekend with his equally primeval buddies, and I was stuck here, doing-guess who's-laundry. That was how the weekends normally went in my overly-exciting life.

I _obviously_ wasn't happy.

I heard the front door open. I was home alone, and not that we had any crime in Suburbia, pastel-perfect hell-excuse me-_paradise_, it still did not hurt to make sure you know who's coming in-not that we even locked our doors. I pushed off of the chair and stood up, lingering in the doorway of my room.

"Mom?" I called out tentatively, my gaunt frame casting a pathetic shadow into the hallway from the sunlight streaming in from the window behind me in my room.

"Honey, I'm in here!" She called back, sounding preoccupied.

"Okay." I muttered a reply, shaking my head. I turned back to step inside my chamber and enchain myself to my desk when she called me back.

"Honey, come in here, I'd like you to meet someone!" She shouted down the hall, the sound of her voice traveling into my ears. I groaned slightly. That's probably why I didn't have so many friends, I didn't like meeting people, because I always became tongue-tied and looked like a loser. I was hopeless.

"Coming." I muttered, running a brush through my stringy, dark brown hair. It wasn't silky or big like my sister's. It was just…mine.

I walked down the hallway in the large vast living room, turning my head in search for my mom. She was smiling and chattering, her eyes crinkling at the corners behind her large glasses, speaking to the person next to her. The being beside her caught me off guard, and I stopped short in the doorway, staring rudely.

He was tall and gaunt, clad in a skin-tight, black-leather outfit that had too many shiny silver buttons and zipper tracks. His hair was jet black and utterly wild. Big and bold, it stuck out in all directions, framing his ghostly-pale, scarred face. But the most shocking of all were his hands. They weren't even that, they were sharp, long scissors. He had _scissors_ for hands! He-

"Come _here_, Katrina." My mother urged, and I realized how rude I was being, staring at him like that.

I moved towards them in a dazed state, not taking my eyes off of his insomniac expression. My mom looked like she wished I would stop staring. "_Katrina_, dear." She stressed my name pointedly. "Meet Edward, he's going to be living with us."

What? I gazed up at him. "Hi." He murmured softly, shyly reaching on of his…err…_hands_ towards mine. How was I supposed to shake _that_?

I touched one of the scissors softly, but they were sharper than they looked. Bright red blood oozed from a small, clean cut on my fingers. But that was enough. I was terrified of blood, and before Edward could manage a heartfelt, apologetic reply, I stumbled away from him, sprinting towards the kitchen sink in eagerness to wash the blood away before I passed out.

**I'm sorry this was kind of short, but I'm just testing it to see if people would want me to continue. Please review, and thank you for reading.**


	2. Everybody's Looking for Something

Sweet Dreams are made of this  
>Who am I to disagree?<br>I travel the world and the seven seas  
>Everybody's looking for something<p>

**_Sweet Dreams – Eurhythmics _**

Oh, God, oh God, oh God, oh God…

Inky red blood oozed from the smallish cut on my palm, evidence of Edward's unusual salutation.

It was sticky, and it smelled like rust.

I knew that I shouldn't be staring at it; with my phobia for bodily fluids gawking at the wound would be like asking for nausea. It was too late now, though, for I was hypnotized – I couldn't bring myself to look away. I sprinted down the hallway, not really watching where I was going, my feet automatically knowing the way to go on the well-worn standard carpet, bumping my hip roughly against the island counter as I made my way over to the sink.

With my other hand, I flipped up the faucet handle and hurriedly threw my hand beneath the running water. It was only after the cut had been soaked did I realize it was hot. I yelped, pulling my smarting palm out from beneath the mini waterfall and hastily switching the setting to 'Cold.' As the cool water eased the ripping sensation in my palm, I allowed myself to relax and breathe deeply, trying to keep my nausea under control.

I contemplated on what an overreactive fool I've been. But I'm terrified of blood – no – terrified is not a strong enough word. I felt heat rising in my face, and new for a world that I was blushing furiously. After literally six seconds of being in his presence – Edward? – no doubt already thinks I have serious mentality issues.

I blinked for a few more seconds, and turned off the water. At least I didn't get any blood on my mother's precious carpet. The woman is obsessed!

Speaking of Mom, she entered the kitchen, her lavender hat in her hand and her dry forehead wrinkled with concern. "Honey, are you all right?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the black-clad figure of Edward at her side.

I wanted to say it stung, ripping a sheet of paper towel from the roll on the counter and pressing it to my hand. But then I glanced up to see the panicked, fear-stricken worry on Edward's face and I didn't have the heart to say 'no.'

He looked down at the floor, his black Einstein hair falling into his unhealthily pale, slightly chubby face. He stared down at the floor, keeping his body to himself as if he was trying to become as small as possible. His dark-rimmed raccoon eyes were so full of guilt that one might assume he committed murder. His scissors intertwined, as if he folded his 'hands' together.

"Yeah," I told my mom, watching Edward. "I'm fine."

Mom bit her lip, compulsively smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on her lavender business coat. "It was an accident, Kat, Edward didn't –"

"I'm sorry." Edward mumbled suddenly, avoiding I contact with me.

"Me too." I replied softly. "I overreacted."

Mom looked relieved. "You certainly did." She grinned at me to show she was kidding. "I'm glad you're all right. Edward?"

She frowned at his clothes, reaching out to brush her fingers against the slippery feel of the leather on his shoulder. "Edward, I'm sure my husband has some old clothes we can get for you to wear."

Yeah, I thought, back when he wasn't so fat.

Suddenly, the pastel-pink phone rang, and my mother lunged for it, twirling the spiraling chord around her gloved fingers.

"Oh, hello Joyce!" She cried brightly.

I made a face. Joyce, no matter how much my mother wanted to deny it – was the town Man-Eater. She hit on everybody, whether it was the milkman, the electrician, or worse – the paperboy, all fell prey to the busty, red-headed Calypso. She was the type of woman to put thongs in her purse and bend over a lot. All the kids at school knew it, and even Kim, Miss See/Hear/Speak-no evil, agreed with me.

"Yes, he's a family guest." My mom explained into the receiver, patience forever her key repertoire.

I rolled my eyes. Everyone in Suburbia was too close for comfort, their noses and unwanted opinions poking around in your case until you just want to scream so loud it rips atoms in two. Edward had probably been with my mom for fifteen minutes, including the drive and the whole 'bloody handshake' fiasco. Now everybody knew about it, and everybody wanted to meet the pale, unusual stranger.

Mom covered the mouth piece with her hand. "Katrina dear, see if you can find a shirt and maybe some pants in the hall closet. I'm pretty sure we've never gotten rid of your father's old clothes." She smiled at Edward. "See if they fit. I'll be in a minute."

Awkwardly, I stepped around Edward, hoping my hesitation of his…er…hands was not desperately obvious. I asked him to follow me, and felt his silent presence behind me as we pattered down the hall. Upon reaching the closet, I stopped so suddenly that Edward bumped into me.

His chest was in my back for only a moment, but I could feel every ridge from the shiny zipper tracks and buckles of his suit before he pulled away.

My shirt was thin.

Edward mumbled a quiet apology.

I acted like nothing happened, twisting the door knob and rising on the tips of my toes to scour the top shelves. I found a white shirt and charcoal pants with suspenders. Glancing back at Edward, I thought he'd look like a barber in them.

I almost pushed the clothes into his arms, but that gestured seemed a little cruel, since he couldn't very well hold them. Instead, I hugged the material tightly to my chest and again beckoned for him to follow me.

We were in Kim's bedroom. I don't know why I led him there, it looked like a playland for little kids.

I dropped the pants at the foot of her waterbed, spreading them out so he could step into them. I turned away as he put them on, even though they went over his…clothes…it was still awkward to stare at someone as they dressed. I heard a snip about three minutes later, and I spun around.

The pants were on, but Edward was watching me with a sheepish, tale-tucked grimace on his face. He held the severed strap of one suspender in his right scissors. God, how I was terrified of those scissors.

"I'm so sorry." He murmured. The way he said it, you could have thought we've been friends forever and he backstabbed me the other day.

I shook my head. "It's fine." For some reason, I didn't want this person to feel uneasy, I didn't want him to feel unwelcome…unwanted. I cracked a grin. "They get in the way anyway."

He looked at the ground again, but I could see the line of his mouth curl into a soft smile of gratitude.

I helped him with the shirt, mindful of the sharp knives of his hands as I delicately scrunched the sleeves up their lengths. When that task was finished, I fixed his collar, straightening and smoothing them out beneath his chin.

It was a plain, white button-down shirt, cotton – naturally. It hung open, revealing his torturous-looking suit, and I couldn't stand to look at the wearable device. So, I reached for the buttons and began looping them through the holes, starting from the bottom and working my way up.

Even though I was only helping him, something about this act seemed dreadfully intimate.

I avoided eye contact, trying not to breathe too loudly. Edward stood there, silently, his body limp as he waited for me to finish. He seemed like it wasn't uncomfortable, like it didn't bother him at all. Why was he so calm? Instead, he was so blank and silent as if he was observing something impossible.

Finally, I reached the last button, the one just below his chin, and my fingertips grazed against the cool skin of his throat.

"Thank you." He murmured softly, like a child, sweet and innocent.

"Sure." I said lamely.

When I looked up at his face, I froze a little. His black onyx eyes were looking in to mine, and there was such a broken expression to them, like shattered glass. The wide-eyed innocence seemed to contain all the sadness in the world. It was intriguing, and I stared openly at him, shamelessy, scrutinizing every detail in that pale face. Faded scars were engraved into his ivory skin, accidently self-inflicted battle wounds of those scissors. I pitied him, imagining the contrast of red blood on his white skin.

I reached out to touch his face, as if stroking my hand across his smooth skin would somehow make the cuts dissapear. I would have touched him too, the fool that I am, had not Mom finished her conversation with Joyce the Maneater.

"Katrina, did the clothes fit?"

**Thank you for reading, please review.**

**Merry Christmas! :)**


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